


The Archivist in the Web

by SoulQueen



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Archivist Sasha James, Gen, Two Archivists au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulQueen/pseuds/SoulQueen
Summary: Instead of Sasha, Jon gets taken by the Not!Them, but due to being Web marked he is swallowed by the table and lives on, trying to find a way to be freed.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 35
Kudos: 223





	1. Chapter 1

The Eye watches, even in here. Its fledgling Archivist curled and cramped in a cocoon of web, trapped by that which could not steal his face no more than it could be an Archivist. The Web’s hold is stronger here of course, but that has never stopped the Watcher. Besides, the Mother is curious. She has a vested interest in this one and the Watcher wants to see the outcome. Regardless of if It is hurt in the process, nothing can succeed in this world after all. So why not enjoy the show?

The fledgling Archivist is kept alive through the Mother’s machinations, though she cannot feed him here. The Web, much like the others, are not so sustainable in their consumption. Not like the Eye, the Eye who can allow the sleeping Archivist a door into dreams. The dreams of the not quite Lukas, Ms. King and her hospital, and the doctor with his apple. Three is not enough. Exceptions will have to be made.

The first exception is the assistant. He has slept peacefully now, knowing that Prentiss and her worms are dead, though the memories still eat away at him. He is not as comfortable in his flat without the corkscrew. And often dreams of those weeks trapped, alone. Only now there is a man with him. A man he does not know—but should. A man who watches the windows with the same urgency as him, thinning, and scarred. Sometimes, as he wakes, he can almost say his name.

The Eye knows Its Archivist will need more, but the new one cannot ask about the body. Not in the way that is needed.

The new one, Gertrude’s choice, sure to have been interesting had it not grown so attached, is hesitant to do the job. The police have been coming around now that the Archival crew are back from leave. She has no answers for them, she can tell they suspect the thing that calls itself Jon. He has been acting differently lately. So has Tim, but he won’t tell her why. She keeps having nightmares, it makes it harder to work. She has been sleeping less.

The thing that calls itself Jon insists that there are no hard feelings between them, that she was the right one for the job to begin with. That things are better this way. It refuses to record another statement; it cannot let itself be known.

Sasha James listens to the old tapes, sometimes. At first it was just because she was searching for answers, old bits of normalcy. But there is something wrong with them. The voice is different. She tells herself it was just how recordings are, besides, their equipment is ancient. She tells herself she needs to do her job. And as she makes her first recording, statement 0131103: Grifter’s Bone, the Eye feeds this to the Archivist too.

It had never had two Archivists before. And It had been a long time since It had an Archivist that was wholly Its own, not since the curious academic that was Angus Stacey. It did not mind the marked ones. It was curious too, as was Its nature. Which is why It never warned Magnus. The Eye wanted to see how he would do it and how he would fare once he succeeded.

The Eye watches everything now. Allowing the fledgling Archivist to listen to his former coworkers. The Not!Jon is more conventionally nice—open. They even flirt with Martin. The Archivist tries not to have feelings about this, though his feelings are why the Eye likes him. The Archivist fears he will be forgotten in there, completely replaced by this Stranger. In return for this fear the Eye feeds his humanity.

The poems of the smitten assistant.

Conversations between the thing that is not him and the detective. The detective who has not made her statement yet but will.

The musings of the disgruntled assistant who knows their boss is missing but no one else seems to notice. His anger reignited; he begins again his search through the statements for information about the monster that killed his brother. He won’t let it happen again.

Recordings of Gertrude, the police do not have a working tape recorder. So, Gertrude’s tapes must be played here. Her voice sounds right on the tapes, the way Sasha remembers. “Case 9790302. Yuri Utkin. Incident occurred in the village of Algasovo, central Russia, November 1952. Statement given 2nd of March 979. Committed to tape 15th of April 1997. Gertrude Robinson recording.”

He never met her. Just as well, they would not suit each other.

If he is lucky, he hears snippets of conversations from the rest of the Institute, the tape recorders following the Not!Jon around wherever they go. They do not return to his flat, he understands that no one is in his flat and believes it will be gone. Or perhaps it is already gone. He can’t imagine the Stranger would pay much attention to his rent. Nor would Elias. It meets others like itself in museums where, he can only hear greetings and vague assurances before someone notices the recorder.

He wants to know what they are doing. He rationalizes that if he ever got out of there, then he could help, warn the others. He Knows that if he were a little more Web, then spiders would be his eyes and ears but he also Knows that he would have no interest in this if he was.

He must wait.

“I just don’t really like her coming here,” says Tim.

“Afraid they’ll find out you’ve been wooing their staff,” Sasha jokes. There is no humor to it.

“It’s just that…do you think Jon killed her?”

“What—no, of course not.”

“Neither do I. But I can understand why they might. What I don’t understand is why they haven’t done anything about it and keep coming back.”

“We’re helping with the investigation.”

“Are we though? Are you sure they don’t think we’re all in on it?”

“Tim.”

“Because that’s what it seems like.”

She sighs. “I’m sure the investigation will move away from us soon; I’m going through her old tapes. There’s—there’s ones about the Stranger. Not a lot, not yet. Figured you’d want to listen to it too.”

There is the rustling of paper and a nervous, flighty laugh. “Thanks. I’ve been looking through the statements too.”

“You’ve been reading them?”

“A few, just enough to know what they’re about. It’s—I don’t like reading them. It feels—”

“Exhausting. I know…Going to let me record them?”

“Yeah, yeah. Have you noticed anything odd about Jon lately?”

“Besides the fact that’s he’s under police investigation and finally took the stick out of his ass?”

“Pretty much.”

“Nothing else.”

“Are you sure?”

In the silence he can hear the rhythmic drumming of fingers on skin. “Have you listened to the old tapes? You’ll probably want to hear them. I’ve still got them in my desk, be right back.”

“Maybe she’s noticed too. And if Sasha notices then we might be able to convince Martin and maybe Elias. Though fat chance of that. He’s more of a pompous ass than—where’d you come from?”

_Click_


	2. The Fire in teh Tunnels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim explores the tunnels.

Footsteps crunch in soft dirt. The wheels of the recorder whir as the Eye watches, Its Archivist protective though he cannot help.

Tim sighs. “I’ve been exploring the tunnels. I figured Jon would want to, especially after Gertrude’s body was found down here, but he hasn’t. Or…well, he might still want to, but that’s not Jon working with us anymore.”

The darkness creaks and the walls groan. They won’t tighten, not yet. He is not oblivious; he just does not know and will not fear. His fear lies elsewhere.

“I didn’t want to bother Sasha without proof, or stress her out more. I think she feels guilty about it. Telling her that Jon’s gone wouldn’t help. Besides, we’ve still got a lot of work to do in the archives.”

Wind hits his face but he has yet to find another exit. The way he came marked by white chalk and red yarn secured to hooks on the walls from the days of their construction and the wheels of pipes that burn, though he can hear no water. His torch keeps going out.

“I would have brought Martin but… I don’t honestly trust him that much, besides, he’s getting closer to that _thing_ and— I guess I just don’t want to upset him yet.”

He is running out of yarn, and though he knows the way he came better now, he is trying to find the room. Martin couldn’t remember it well and he wasn’t going to ask.

“While looking into this place some, I found out the Institute was built over the old Millbank Prison and guess who built _that_?” His laugh is mirthless. “Anything to do with the supernatural and you can bet Smirke was involved. I know Gertrude left this place in disarray but I have been able to find statements about his work at least. We’ve… we’ve been trying to catalogue the statements into groups, Sasha and I. Since before Prentiss’ attack. There are a few running themes but some of them mix. Bugs are one, though I don’t know what it’s called. There’s the one with the fire cult. The fractals guy that Sasha met. And, the one I’m focused, the one that took you, the Stranger. They are connected to those old Russian circuses. And the clowns, or clown dolls, or whatever.”

Spiders skitter and crawl in the dark corners, he does not see them. He saw their work with the remains of the worms and he was glad for it, as glad as anyone could be about what had happened. But he was perfectly fine not seeing another bug for a very long time. Even if he knew they didn’t fit together.

“Gertrude was doing this a long time, she might have known something about this place, the supernatural, whatever the hell is going on that makes this place such a hotspot for it besides Robert Smirke’s descent into the occult.” He stops in front a staircase leading further down. “But I can’t do it alone.”

His torch goes out, it is his last one. He pretends like smacking it will do it any good, counting the seconds as he tempts fate. Ten, eleven, twelve. He had gotten trapped down here in the dark on his first journey. He had thought he’d be able to replace the batteries in the dark and be fine. He wasn’t even sure of the time; his old watch hadn’t worked in years. But he wasn’t one to throw away such a precious last gift. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Something brushes against his leg so he steels himself. Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five. The Archivist wishes he could tell him not to be stupid. To remember his phone. He had heard the recording of Mark Bilham’s statement.

Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight.

“I’ve never actually been afraid of the dark. Neither of us were.” He turns on his phone, the sudden light blooms spots in his eyes as he checks the time. “Two-thirty-two.” A frown in his voice. He does not want to turn back yet, but going down right now means facing something unnecessary. “Our best bet is to find out what Gertrude knew, but none of the people she worked with are still alive.”

He marks an X for his stopping point, the date and time on the wall and on the first stair. There’s no telling how long this place will stay the same. He had better make a map.

“I’ll keep you posted. Goodnight Jon.”

_Click_


	3. The Archivist and the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still working out the timeline but Michael pays a visit to the Archives to collect what is his.

“I-I’ve met him before too, last year. Michael,” says Sasha.

“Yes! That was his name. Is that why you’re here?”

“Sort of.” She shakes her head, swallowing. “I’ll look into it, the investigation needed to be reopened anyways. Thank you for your time Ms. Richardson.”

“Alright then. Thank you.” She rises and before Sasha can offer to have Martin walk her out, she’s through the door and gone.

“Hm. Well, I guess we’re not done with the Distortion yet. Great.” She makes a note for herself to go through the Distortion statements, she was planning on changing the filing system. Adding categories at least.

A rising squealing static filled her eyes, the tape still rolling.

“So, you’re the new Archivist? Gertrude’s choice.”

She startled, reaching for something to use to defend herself as she realized who—what it was. “What are you doing here?”

“I am simply collecting what is mine. The one who entered my domain.”

“So those are your hallways.”

“In a sense. It doesn’t matter: the Wanderer had a brief respite, but it’s over now.”

“Well, you’re too late, she’s gone.”

They laugh. “Yes… ah… did you notice _which_ door she left through?”

“Bring her back.”

“Whatever would I do that for?”

“Because you helped me before.”

“I intervened because I want to see what happens next. You understand curiosity around here, don’t you?” His laughter overlapping with different echoes of himself, each a fraction of a second out of sync.

“And now?”

“And now I’m curious but uninterested in helping. There’s not much you can do now, Archivist. You’ll just have to figure it out like she did.”

“What, no, tell me what’s happen—agh, what the hell? Michael. Michael?”

“Good luck Archivist.”

“Sasha, I heard you scream are you oh—oh, hold on, I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

Inhaling sharply, she nods, slumping back into her seat. “Recording ends.”

Click


	4. The Man on the Tapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I listened to episode 170 and decided there was no way I wasn't doing a Martin chapter now. Obviously it's not going to be a heart-wrenching as Johnny's because I don't think I can go through that again. Not until I relisten at least.

“Oh, hello then. I thought I put you away.” A door creaks open and fabric rustles. “Well, it’s fine. Something _interesting_ happened today.” It shuts softly and he raises his voice from the next room.

Clink. Clink.

“One of the statement givers stabbed Sasha. Well…she says it wasn’t one of the statement givers but she won’t say who did it. I guess they were scared or something.”

The ignition clicks and he is almost considering forgoing his tea. But the fire catches. He stumbles back, feeling the heat on his eyebrows. He laughs nervously. “Might have to get that fixed. Oh, did I tell you, Jon and I are supposed to be going on a date. Just coffee, nothing big. I-I mean we’re supposed to be going but he’s never said when and I…don’t want to push it.” Humming, he drums his fingers against the counter.

“I-well I think we connected, like really connected back during the Prentiss attack. I can’t remember what we talked about though. Maybe poetry-yeah, yeah. That’s what it was, we talked about Keats to calm down. I didn’t think he liked Keats. But I guess he surprised me, it’s nice… I think.”

“He doesn’t like talking about work though. Sasha doesn’t even assign us on follow-ups together, though I thought she would. Maybe that’s for the best, he’d probably be a lot safer doing those without me…I…maybe I should tell him about my CV. I mean, Sasha knows. Tim probably knows. But he’s just gotten a lot nicer…”

The whistle blows.

The old leather of his chair sighs with him as he sips his tea. “I actually haven’t talked to Tim a lot lately. Like, he’s not avoiding me or anything. It’s not like we ever talked a lot, it’s just, Jon and I haven’t talked to him a lot lately. Jon thinks it’s because of the attack, Sasha says he’s helping her with something. Ergo, I can’t help with it.” A short sip. “That’s fine. Probably for the best.”

He taps the mug, humming. “I keep having those dreams, about the attack. And those are fine, I’m getting used to them though I don’t see why they’d start up now. Probably because of the new place. Last night was different though. I was in the tunnels again, with the body and I wasn’t even there for long but it felt so…I don’t even know how to describe it—creepy? I know that’s not the best word but…I’d almost rather dream about the worms.”


	5. The Man in His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Statement of Martin Blackwood's dreams extracted direct from subject while he sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This the continuation of the last chapter because it did not properly end. @OfInkAndPen notified me that the tape was still going and why not roll with our happy accidents, eh?

The man in his dreams does not belong in his flat. Does not belong on the secondhand green sofa with the poorly knit throw. He has wanted the man in his dreams to belong there. _Wants_ still. But the man in his dreams is only that, a dream.

He sits there and watches him, occasionally turning to the window to mouth the words of his tormentor, calling to him with her choir of worms. The thin silver terrors and their impossibly sharp teeth borrowing deep and deep inside. He cannot cut them out. Cannot get a grip enough on one to tug with fervent terror.

Suddenly he remembers the corkscrew. But he doesn’t keep a corkscrew in his flat, only in that quiet backroom in the Archives and this event predates his stay. He is alone. Facing his fear unarmed. He didn’t eve realize this was a fear of his. Sure, he’d never liked bugs—aside from spiders, be he had never hated them. Now the fear within him was infested with a hatred he wasn’t aware he had.

He didn’t like it.

The woman that was more worms than flesh knocked on his window, laughing in a thousand little voices, mocking him, reminding him that no one was coming to save him because no one cared about poor Martin Blackwood.

He tried not to focus on her. Honestly it was easier now, to focus on the man that did not belong.

‘ _Why_ was he familiar,’ he would ask himself.

The man was more eyes than skin, glowing a bright green that could almost be considered peridot, but he’d always thought they were olive.

‘The eyes are wrong,’ he thought, with a sudden burst of remembrance. A confidence he had no right having about someone he did not know.

Below the glow he could make out patches of almond skin and dark hair that was getting longer than he thought the man would have liked. But really, he never knew to begin with.

He thought it would be rude not to say something and he wanted to wash out the bitter taste of hate festering inside him for the worms on his fire escape. He had been a bad host for long enough. Except he was out of tea and he was sick of peaches. ‘It would be worse to offer them,’ he reasoned.

“H-hello then,” he said instead. “Do I - Do I know you?”

But the man in his dreams does not answer. He cannot answer. Because he is not there.

And he is alone with his nightmare again, aware enough to hope he can wake up faster, maybe head into the office earlier, but with no power to wake himself.

He is alone.

Click


	6. An Album

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasha finds a picture of the Archivist.

The fear of being forgotten marked her for the Lonely long ago. But it was her curiosity that kept her remembered. And when she had learned of the Stranger— the Unknowing, through Gertrude and Tim, that fear rose up again. She learned they couldn’t override every picture, at least not analog ones. And though the retro aesthetic was more Martin’s thing, she kept a polaroid. She made her mark on things, on memories. A signature here, a well-placed quip there, a necklace that she always wore that her father was always able to remember her by even as the dementia took over. It was nice, to be remembered.

She even admired Jurgen Leitner for staking claim to as many of those books as he could find, foolish as it turned out to be. And she hated Leitners. She’d never even read one. Gertrude never admitted any to the hands of Artifact Storage and for that she was thankful. Jon never had them actually read any when he was in charge, no, he had a healthy suspicious of them. A hatred of them that came through in the tapes back when the assistants still listened. It’s why she had hope that he wasn’t as much of a skeptic as he presented.

And now, where was he?

She wasn’t really sure. She knew that that thing talking to Martin and pretending like he was perfectly fine being under police investigation was not the real Jonathan Sims despite what her memories told her. She knew there were things that could replace people and she could not believe that it had happened, that’s he couldn’t help. She wanted to help.

She flipped through her photo album for pictures she still expected to look fondly annoyed or have a hand in front the camera but instead there was a tallish man with a wide smile sitting back with a cup of tea in almost every one of them. He looked genuinely happy to have his picture taken, not at all like he’d been interrupted when she thought he was almost impossible to interrupt. And she knew he hated it.

Their tapes told her he was sort of cranky, a workaholic, one tape even told her they’d had a conversation about calliopes and its pronunciation and she knows she gave him her statement about Michael but she was having trouble finding it. She did find one tape though, it matched with the only picture she’d gotten of him that’s still right.

She played the tape, surprising herself with a smile at the sound of them giving Jon a heart attack. He was so stiff—nervous. Even lying about his age.

He didn’t smile in the picture. She wished she’d gotten one of him blowing out the candles, she had been too busy laughing at Tim. No, it was a nice picture, she was grateful for it. Jon, she was certain that was him because she did not recognize him at all, wore a green sweater and glasses that hung off a chain. He kept his dark hair short in a desperate attempt to look professional and nothing at all like the singer Jonny D’Ville. She’d never gotten o spring that one on him. It was highly inappropriate. Tim would like it though. Tim was hugging Jon and Martin to keep Jon from pulling away. She was beside them with her glass of wine and Elias smiled almost sinisterly at the camera, he’d actually put on the pink birthday cone Tim had given him. It was laughable really. He’d just come for cake and was forced into singing Happy Birthday to get it.

Wait a minute.

She rewound the tape.

“Happy Birth- Yes! day dear-”

She, Tim, and Martin sung, “-Jo-on.”

And Elias sung, “-Archivist.”

She frowned. Thinking maybe it was his way of being playful. He never looked like he was very good at it.

She…she knew she was working for some place dangerous; she’d worked in Artifact Storage for years and a few conversations with Gertrude had made her positive that they weren’t doing everything they said they were doing and that’s why she stayed. She wanted to know.

Locking the album back in her desk drawer, slipping the photo in her notebook. There is a tape recorder running but she cannot find it. The whir of its wheels fills the noise in the back of her mind. She takes the tape. “Let’s go find Tim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing fast and loose with the tenses here, I know. It is supposed to be in present tense but I was never very good at that. Bear with me here.


End file.
